st petersburgh
More memories from our recent trip…
- Irina, our private guide in
St Petersburg. A model of professionalism, knowledge and charm.
- The Borsch at the traditional restaurant she took us to, and the fact that, during her brief absence, we all decided that the sour cream on the table was for smearing on our bread (it was delicious). The delicate way she informed us, some considerable time later, that it was for spooning into said soups, but hey, if you want to smear the stuff on your bread…
- D’s face when he realised that her past clients had included Gorbachev,
Clinton and - the moment at which he positively vibrated - Tina Turner! -
- The Hermitage: I head to the loo, but the urninals are busy, so I pop into the cubicle. But the shorts I have on have a stupid fastening that means you can’t just undo the fly, haul out the priceless work of art and start pouring away. Oh no, you have to undo the belt buckle, undo the top button, undo the fly, reach inside (don’t you just love couture) and unhook a counterpanel that buttons half way round to your ass. And watch, as the camera case on your recently undone belt slides forward, in slow motion, off the belt, and lands squarely in the piss-filled bowl. Into which you have yet to pee. Camera still works. Case and two spare memory cards are floating down the Neva Neva.
- The palaces! Oy, the Palaces!! So much gold, so much over-the-topness that it made you long for a nice slice of soviet-style social housing.